Recruiting
by Zellarest
Summary: The Cannons are back at their hometown, and they're recruiting. / For Quidditch finals at QFLC!


For the Quidditch finals at QLFC.

Objective: Set your story in Chudley Cannons hometown, with your character on holiday there.

Prompts:

.,.,.

Jumping out of bed with enthusiasm was something she never thought she'd do, but this morning was different than all the others. Tryouts for the brand new lineup of the most infamous Quidditch team in history. The Chudley Cannons. Coming back to their hometown to recruit new members. The orange sweater almost didn't make the cut, on account on being too tacky or desperate. One sock then another of a different color before she was out and down the stairs.

Cold wind bit at her cheeks instantly upon stepping out the door.

"Mary! Hold up!" a voice called. It sounded labored and breathless.

Mary turned. The pinked face of her best friend, Michael, registered. Three things defined him-messy auburn curls that still fell into his eyes despite being tucked into a hat; rimless glasses that framed his eyes; and the two divots in his cheeks when he smiled, or in this case, grimaced while panting. It was an amusing sight to say the least.

"Running late?" she asked with a grin.

"Ha," he deadpanned. "Says the girl with her hat on backwards."

Mary reddened and straightened the hat. "How's living with your mum again?"

"I think I've eaten enough pie in the last day to last me the rest of my life."

She couldn't help it—she laughed. "At least you're prepared. Can't say the same myself."

"Skived breakfast again?"

"Eh." She shrugged. "How is it that the week that we come to spend at home, the freaking _Cannons _show up?"

"Recruiting, as well." He nodded somberly. "You think we'll ge it?"

"We're gonna crush it! Don't sweat. We're the best Chaser-Beater duo in all of Chudleigh, after all."

Michael grinned. "Yeah yeah."

Cold wind bit at her cheeks. She ignored it to the best of her ability and plowed on. It was quiet, almost eerily so. Everyone in town seemed to be hibernating. She couldn't imagine how everyone wasn't freaking out like mad. The bloody Chudley Cannons were in town. It took everything for her not to run full speed toward the pitch.

Michael and her shared menial conversation on the

The beginnings of a pitch began to appear over the horizon. A weathered white fence, and then, slowly, three posts topped with rings. A large sign came into focus. Orange text was painted on its face. It read: "Quidditch Tryouts! This weekend only."

"This is it Michael! The day that will set us on the path to the rest of our lives!"

Michael chuckled uneasily. "Tone it down there, will ya?" He looked redder. "You're giving me nerves."

"Alright, alright. Just give it your all and you'll blow them right off their feet, I know it!"

"Wait, does your mum even know about this?"

"She said it was alright."

He had an eyebrow raised in speculation. "Really?" he asked critically.

Mary quailed under his sharp gaze. "Well, she didn't exactly say it like that…"

"Yeah, I figured as much."

"Hey! She'll change her mind as soon as I tell her I made an official team!"

"Okay."

Mary let out an indignant puff of air. It was obvious that Michael wasn't convinced. Though it didn't please her, she decided to drop the subject. The unresolved conflict left her even more determined to score a spot on the team.

.,.,.

Though the rest of town had been like a ghost town, the pitch held probably a good two dozen people. Most, if not all, of them were holding brooms, almost all hideously outdated. They were all trying out.

"Bloody hell," Michael whispered. "I expected a good crowd, but not this many people actually trying out."

Mary noticed several of them held bats and were much taller than her, and even Michael. They caught her eye and winked. Mary grimaced and turned her attention the left end of the field. Two well built, official looking adults sat at a table with a few others and one person Mary knew well. The captain of the Cannons.

Michael flushed when he saw him. "C-_Cris Hemleigh_?" he sputtered.

Mary took his arm and dragged him toward the line at the opposite end of the field. "Come on," she ordered.

Many were called out. Each flew with ease, obviously having played most of their lives. Michael became visibly more nervous as time wore on and less people occupied the bench. At the desk, the judges kept close watch on each participant. Mary focused on the captain. Cris held a clipboard in hand. It no doubt held a checklist of things he was looking for in the flyers. Mary couldn't help but wonder what it was that he looked for, specifically.

Michael stared wide-eyed at Cris, too, but Mary imagined it was for different reasons. The same way everyone had posters of the captain on their bedroom walls for different reasons.

Soon it was his turn. He turned to Mary with a panicked look.

She sighed and took both of his hands in hers. His palms were sweaty. "Calm down. None of these guys have anything on you. You're the best darn Beater I know." His grip on her hands tightened. "Just go out there and rock their world, okay?"

Michael nodded. He stood and walked with trembling knees to the rings. Shakily he mounted his broom and rose into the air. By then, his skin was red raw from the cold. Mary directed as much sympathy as she could toward him. Whenever he looked over, she offered an encouraging smile.

"Hey, uh, short girl!"

It was obviously directed at Mary. Out of both curiosity and surprise at who would be asking for her, she turned at the call. Her eyes widened at who it was. The last person she expected—Cris.

He looked sheepish. "Yeah, get on up there. Let's see what you've got."

The surprise passed quickly. It was replaced by the blind confidence Mary was known for.

"It's Mary, by the way. You'll be needing to remember that."

He grinned. "Show, don't tell, shorty."

His attractiveness was almost offensive. Mary resisted the urge to punch him. Oh, she would show him.

She kicked off with extra force. The broom shot upward. Strong autumn wind bit at her cheeks and tugged at her clothes. She pulled her hat tighter around her ears and steeled herself. The ground appeared miles away, like grassy pavement at the top of a skyscraper. Nausea gripped her stomach.

"Alright daisies, you've got the drift by now, I'm sure," Cris said loftily. The playful glint in his eyes was beyond irritating. "One, two, three, _fly_!"


End file.
